Deja Vu
by StarWarrior72
Summary: When Darth Vader is roused from sleep by a sob he feels strangely connected to, he is compelled to find its source. ONESHOT


Vader was woken with a jerk from a rare deep sleep. Something, or someone, had cried, and it had torn at his very soul. It was still crying, he realized, crying in a way that beat at his shields, every last one. He lay in bed, curiously watching the little terrified blip of the Light Side of the Force.

It had been a long time before someone had looked to him for genuine, personal help, and a homesick part of him that was Anakin liked it. He wondered who the blip was. Why was it so scared? Where was it? He didn't know. But he reached out carefully and gently, afraid that his darkness would hurt it further, and touched it.

It was as though he had grabbed a live electrical wire with both hands, and he could no more ignore it than he could let go. Terrified sobbing pounded his brain, and there was pain… He scrambled out of bed, pulling on his tunic. He couldn't allow the frightened little blip to be hurt like that! It felt so delicate, so helpless! It was both more, and less, than a Jedi youngling. It had all the innocence, and more, but none of the training. It was so very young that Vader feared for its sanity.

As he ran to his hanger, he began to caress the frightened blip's presence, allowing it comfort in his own presence, dark, but painless. As though he had opened a door in his heart, which he supposed he had, a fragment of the child's soul darted in and lodged itself behind the spot saved for Padmé. Bemused, Vader continued to cradle the person as he started the engine of his fastest hyperspace-capable ship.

The rest of the blip seemed to be trying to get in, but it was quickly learning that it couldn't fully separate from its living body. Vader returned his attention to that part of the blip, sending it all the feelings he had hidden for so long.

As he jumped to hyperspace, the blip remained with him, drawing him onward. He knew with great certainty exactly where the helpless child was. He buried his outrage deep, allowing only protectiveness to enter his long thought-dead heart, which swelled at the sudden feeding, and seemed a better shelter for the pure innocence with each passing second.

Vader took his ship from hyperspace and down towards the sandy planet he so loathed, forgetting to hate it in his longing to protect. As he flew towards the gruesome camp, he remembered his hatred, and it flowed through him once more. He landed squarely atop several tusken warriors who seemed to be standing guard over the rebuilt tent in which they'd murdered his mother.

As Vader opened the cockpit, the wails of the blip were joined by terrified sobs of a young boy. If his ears were informing him correctly, something he couldn't be sure of, due to the ringing of his rage, they were coming from the torture rack he had freed her from.

His lightsaber was in his hand, and he realized with a start that he'd accidentally taken the old blue blade in his hurry to come help. He wasted no more time on thinking about some meaningless weapon, quickly dispatching of the guards and hurrying into the tent. There, much to his horror, but not surprise, was a young boy tied with leather ties to the same awful frame on which his mother had been mortally wounded. Two tuskens stood by his sides, whipping him with long strips of bantha leather. He rid the galaxy of their presences as well. Then the blip stopped wailing, simultaneous with the little boy. They continued crying, but it was less torturous to Vader now.

He knelt before the awful frame again, as he had years before, and carefully untied the straps, which were cracked with age, and far bloodier than only his mother's and this child's tortures could have possibly made it. The frightened, wounded little Light child slipped into his arms, clinging to him as he cried.

Vader pushed away his hatred of the camp and his longing to run from it again in order to snuggle the child. The boy needed him, he told himself, and he wouldn't be much of a help if he was unwilling to stay and comfort. However, surely carrying the boy with him wouldn't harm anyone. He knew, with the same certainty with which he had known where the boy was being held, where the boy lived. However, as he ducked out of the tent, sobbing child in his arms, he saw something that nearly made his heart stop.

Lying on the ground nearby was Obi-Wan, his old master. He didn't know what made him do it, but he stepped closer to him. He hated Obi-Wan, he reminded himself, but seeing him unceremoniously face-down in the sand still felt wrong, a bitter understatement of his importance. Without understanding his own motives, he knelt down beside Obi-Wan, taking one arm from the little boy to feel for a pulse.

However, as he was slightly released, the little boy looked down at the arm that had left him, and saw who lay beyond it. Immediately, he squirmed from Vader's arms, landing on his hands and knees beside Obi-Wan.

"Ben!" it cried, and Vader new all too well the fear that accompanied mortal peril of a guardian, "Ben!"

Vader tried to direct the boy back to himself, but he was too focussed on the still form of the Jedi. Vader himself was still in shock. He had thought that Obi-Wan must have been invincible to have beaten him, but here the Jedi lay, dead at the hands of mere tuskens.

"Wake up!" the little boy was wailing, shaking Obi-Wan's still shoulder, "Ben! Wake up!"

Vader reached out and tried again to pull the boy closer, away from his dead friend, but the boy continued clinging to Obi-Wan.

"Let him go," Vader said softly, "There's nothing we can do for him now."

The child shook his little head again, "No," he whimpered. He gave Obi-Wan's shoulder another shake, and said sadly, "Wake up."

Vader reached for the little boy, "We need to get you home," he said.

"No!" the boy said fiercely.

"There's nothing we can do," Vader said again, "I'm sorry."

"No," the boy said, "I saw him move."

Vader opened his mouth to tell the boy that thinking like that would only hurt him further, but he involuntarily glanced down at the fallen Jedi Master. And, true to the boy's word, he had moved. His eyes were fluttering, as though he was trying to wake from a deep sleep.

"A stun bolt," he said in amazement, "Of course."

The little boy was taking full advantage of his friend's return from the dead, having dragged Obi-Wan upright and was clinging to him with more strength than he should have had after being tortured as he had been.

"Luke," Obi-Wan said, "What were you doing out on this night? You know this is the most dangerous night of the year."

"I know," Luke said, the sound muffled by Obi-Wan's tunic, which his face was still buried in, "But there was a meteor shower tonight, and I wanted to see it so bad."

Obi-Wan seemed not to have noticed Vader's presence, or perhaps he had accepted it, "No meteor shower is worth your life," he reprimanded.

Luke nodded, "I know. I just thought… I thought they only come back to the farm after…"

Vader reached out and pulled Luke off of Obi-Wan, "I hate to interrupt your happy reunion, but we should get to safety. If one Jedi couldn't properly protect Luke, I doubt that the two of us can excuse staying out any longer than we can possibly avoid."

Obi-Wan nodded, and held out a hand, obviously expecting Vader to help him to his feet, but Vader wasn't annoyed by his presumption, taking his hand and pulling him up.

"Your ship won't hold all of us," Obi-Wan said.

"No," Vader answered, "We'll walk back to the farm. It'll be a ways, but I'll carry Luke."

Obi-Wan didn't argue, and Vader cradled the hurt little boy in such a way as to keep him comfortable.

"Why did they do this?" he asked, gesturing around at the semi-restored camp.

"According to local legend," Obi-Wan said calmly, as though that legend hadn't just nearly killed him, "Ten years ago, a village of tuskens were slaughtered here, over the life of a prisoner of theirs. Now, on the anniversary of that day, the tuskens take a farmer back here and torture them until dawn, when they slit their throats. After that, they take the body to the farm that the original killer returned to."

"Uncle Owen always tried to hide the bodies from me," Luke said, clutching very tightly to Vader's tunic, "But I saw them anyway. Grampa tried to stop them once, and they killed him."

Vader nodded. It seemed like just the barbaric sort of thing that tuskens would engage in. He felt the hatred rising in his veins again, and he looked down at the light child who had chased his fury away before, and realized that he had accepted him as truth without verification.

"Luke," he said, "What's your last name?"

The little boy looked up at him, "Skywalker. Why?"

Vader felt a great swell of wellbeing. He was hugging his little boy, and even though Luke had cuts and bruises that would require tending to, he was glad to be doing so.

"I live with my aunt and uncle, not my parents, if that's it."

"No," Vader said dismissively, "I asked because… because I'm your father."

Luke's little form stiffened in surprise, "What?"

"I'm your father, Luke," Vader repeated, "I'm your father, and you're my son."

Eyes wide, Luke turned to Obi-Wan, "Really?"

Vader turned to look at Obi-Wan as well, and felt no anger that he had hidden Luke.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, smiling that same infuriatingly calm smile he had always had.

Luke wrapped his short arms tightly around Vader's neck. They walked in stunned, joyful silence for several hundred meters, and Luke began to drift off on Vader's shoulder. Vader's heart was still soaring, and Obi-Wan seemed content to walk silently alongside them.

Vader had not felt so complete, so at peace, so ineffably happy since he'd lost Padmé. But if Luke was here, snuggled again him, was it so certain that Padmé was gone? He turned to Obi-Wan to ask, but Obi-Wan was already shaking his head, apparently more in tune with Vader's emotions than Vader had known.

"She's gone, Anakin."

Vader felt no flare of anger at the name, and no need to correct him. He felt disappointment at the fact that Padmé was dead as he had thought, but he knew that he had been hoping for too much, that even hoping for what had already happened today to be real was too much. Yet, it felt so real. And besides, if his brain had been recreating his dreams, would Luke have been tortured as he was? Would Obi-Wan have been here, considering the anger Vader harboured against him? No. Of course not.

"I'm sorry, Master. I've made terrible mistakes. I-I'll do anything to repair my damage," Vader started.

Obi-Wan shook his head, "Not now, Anakin. Keep your son comfortable, and we can talk about that later. For now, enjoy being home."

Anakin was home, of course. Everything felt like home, from the warm body of his little son, to his master, to the sand starting to get into his boots, irritating, but so familiar. On his shoulder, Luke was sleeping silently, perfect and beautiful as his mother had been. Obi-Wan, understanding for once that there was no lecture that could imprint the obvious moral more strongly than Anakin's feelings.

"Thank you," he said.

Obi-Wan smiled, "Are you thanking me, or the galaxy at large?"

Anakin laughed, a sound he hadn't made in years. On his shoulder, Luke shuffled slightly, disturbed by the sudden noise. Anakin hugged him closer, keeping him warm and safe in the cool Tatooine night.

"The galaxy at large, I guess. The Force," he answered at last, "I think I finally understand why we put such faith in it."


End file.
